I’ve always known I wanted to stay at home with my kids while they were small. We planned for it ahead of time and hammered out most of the details. My 9 to 5 consists of caring for the child(ren). If I can get things done around the house — FANTASTIC. If not? Evenings and weekends it is. When Matt gets home, we try to go 50/50. He takes over with the girls, I start dinner. We do most of the shopping together. He lets me sleep an extra hour or two on the weekends.
Basically? I have it pretty good.
When it comes to venting, the best I can muster up is a little list I like to call
WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY TRYING TO DO TO ME WITH THIS TOMFOOLERY?
Fighting over my lap. This one is new. If one is in my lap, the other is AUDIBLY DISPLEASED. Even if, in the split seconds prior to noticing the other receiving my attention, they were happily ensconced in independent play. The only solution I’ve found is (aside from when I need to nurse the baby) THERE IS NO LAP TIME WITH MOMMY. Not unless the other one is asleep. Or lost in the house somewhere. Not that that’s ever happened. For long.
Pulling hair. Hands down? My number one complaint about having girls. (Other than the trashy clothes companies seem to think I’ll be on board with. HALTER TOPS? SERIOUSLY?) There is hair all over the place! For to be grabbing! And Roo loves to pull hair. Because Roo loves to EAT HAIR. Vio, bless her heart, runs away from her in terror at times. A ponytail and barrettes solves the problem, but you can guess how often Miss Stringy Bangs allows for that. Sigh.
Hungry every 12 minutes. Both of them. They want to eat/drink/nurse all the time. Roo is a snack-nurser. Five minutes and she’s good to go — for about an hour. She settles in before her naps and bed, but beyond that? SNACK NURSING. I’ve tried to be all staunch and lay down the law and force her to wait two hours, and sometimes that works, but I’ll be damned if I can resist a tiny person beating her head against my chest and clawing at my shirt like a terrified kitten. I AM NOT HEARTLESS.
Vio, on the other hand? In an average morning, she will eat a bowl of oatmeal, a banana, a string cheese or cup of yogurt, and at least one other serving of fruit. Sometimes also a scrambled egg. That is from 7-11AM. (At which point she wants elevenses. HOBBIT CHILD.) None of those foods are eaten together. I’ll let you do the math on dividing the number of hours by the number of snacks and carrying ones and all that BS, because I don’t have the time WHAT WITH ALL THIS SNACK-MAKING.
General unpredictability. I know this is true of any job — hell, anyone’s life — at any given moment, but holy fracksticks, you guys. I never know if it’s going to be a good night or a bad night. How much will I get to sleep tonight? is a constant thought in my mind. Will the girls get along? Will they nap well so we can get out of the house on time? Will Roo scream for the entire car ride? I’ve had to learn to dial my expectations down to a zero. Even after 3+ years of this, I still expect that however things are at THIS moment is how they will stay. Baby is up all night long? Vio throwing non-stop tantrums? JESUS CHRIST, IT’S A LION! GET IN THE CAR! Baby’s sleeping well? Everyone’s getting along? OH WE SERIOUSLY DODGED A BULLET THANK GOODNESS THAT’S OVER!
It’s, uh. Unproductive. At best.
So, that’s what I’ve got. How about you? Mom venting? Workplace venting? Still in college venting? We’re looking for all of it over at Girl Talk Thursday. Play along!